


Wings

by hyperions



Series: Shapes of Love [1]
Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 07:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13476834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperions/pseuds/hyperions
Summary: In the haze of lust, Akira thinks he sees the flash of too many wings spread from the back of his lover. But it's just a trick of the light.





	Wings

**Author's Note:**

> A small thing for my favorite disaster gays. Seriously though, I love this pairing and how it rips my heart to shreds. I know this isn't much, but there's just so much for them jumbled up in my head, haha. Expect more from me where these two are concerned. (:

Sometimes when they fuck, he sees wings.

Feathers pale, pristine under golden light washed immaculate. Akira lifts his head and blinks through the heat of a lusting fog, swears he sees a sprawl of wings encircle him in a loving arch. But it's just Ryo beneath him -- Ryo with his head tossed back and white throat exposed too pretty to ignore. Akira has to bow back down, has to claim the curve of his jugular in a kiss that sucks a purple-blue mark into the unsullied whiteness. He doesn't want it perfect, doesn't want it untouched. His sharpened teeth drag over the swell of his pulse and makes Ryo curve beneath him to feel more.

"Don't mark," the professor sighs, but his fingers tell a different story with how they weave into the dark mess of Akira's hair and hold tight, keep him right where he wants him with his mouth coveting flesh Ryo doesn't mind sharing. But he does cup his cheeks and stroke a loving touch down the strong line of his jaw. Akira can't see straight when he's like this ( _sees red, sees blood, sees tight-looking thighs, sees the blue of eyes so bright they ground him like a lighthouse beacon catching a sailor lost at sea)_ , but he can still look up into the smiling face of his lover, the face he's looked to since childhood.

He thinks he sees them again. Wings, feathers shining radiant in his hair. Feathers holy in heaven's fearsome light, feathers opening around him in the same arch of pleasure that pulls the two boys together in graceless fumbling. He blinks again and they're gone like the halo he thought encircled Ryo's hair in sunlight. But there's his smile -- that slight, small crease of lips that makes Akira's heart melt warm between shivering ribs ( _ribs that ache from all the sobs, all the lances pointed at a heart too soft and tender for all the harshness of the world forced on once-small shoulders_ ).

In his awe, he slathers a messy lick up one of Ryo's delicate palms. These hands are small, slender, but deadly precise with tight holds on machine guns and shotguns that can take out a demon's skull. They're still so smooth in spite of the yellow blood often dripping between vice-like fingers, running down the barrel of a sniper rifle with pinpoint accuracy. Akira doesn't taste any of the blood, though; he tastes clean skin like soap and hand oils and something subtle-sweet he can't quite place. He knows how much better white looks on those fingers, anyway.

Their foreheads lean together and though Ryo's hands linger over his cheeks, they roam down his sides to give his narrow hips a squeeze and hook through his beltloops to start dragging down his pants. Akira groans and nudges their noses, eyes closed as his jeans fall and bunch at his knees so his cock can spring free.

"What are you waiting for?" comes that lulling coo of a voice in his ear. His eyes open and he sees it again; sees a smiling face with hooded come-hither eyes and hair that falls to his shoulders as feathers fan out on both sides. Those eyes are still blue, still bright like the sky above the cliffs they grew up on, but radiance brilliant and unworldy glows off Ryo's skin like he's woven from stars ( _their stars, their moon with or without the rabbits trapped inside_ ). His friend cocks his head playfully and the feathers glisten. For a moment, Akira wonders if Ryo can see this vision's reflection in the burning of his eyes. But it's gone again. Gone like dust.

Akira clenches his teeth and Ryo grins wider to see it, the raw and wild energy of the devilman rubbing wanton between his open legs. There is no hesitation, only the forward roll of Akira's hips to push him into the welcome heat of him. Akira moans and leans all his weight forward, pinning Ryo into the mattress as said lover arches his back to force him in deeper. They sigh together, reveling in one of Akira's favorite feelings - that first push in, the way Ryo opens for him and takes in that throb of girth, that stiffness of clumsy arousal. And Ryo's hands clutch into his back, dragging red lines into the skin that sings for him.

There is no slow, romantic build-up. No, not this time. There is Akira bowing his face hard into Ryo's neck as he ruts into him, fucks him the way he wanted to as soon as he stepped into the penthouse and pinned him to the wall. And Ryo responds just the way Akira loves; moans his name " _Akira_ " so lewdly it runs a shudder down his spine and spurs him faster, harder. His gasps are like the porn stars he's watched in the Makimura living room -- _better_ , even, as though Ryo's more of a pro than they are. "There-- O-oh, _there_..." he'll cry for him and his nails will dig down his back and make him grunt into the sweaty line of his neck.

His thrusts are clumsy now. Hard, ruthless, heavy against Ryo's hips and loud enough with an obscene smack of skin on skin. It fuels the fire, burns the hunger running hotter and hotter within the chaotic entanglement of man and demon. They both crave him, _take_ him roughly like a covetous fiend who means to chain him up and save him for days like this. Akira's eyes scrunch tighter closed and he snarls his grunts, his groans feral-like with hot huffs of breath as Ryo bucks beneath him, meeting him at every thrust. Akria feels himself edging, knows he won't last long when he's like this and will ravish him merciless until he meets that intense crescendo. To savor the moments before that, he lifts his head and opens his eyes. And he sees it again.

Skin like the light of the moon, twelve wings stretched out open and wide, long hair spun from gold, a ring of light wreathing his shoulders like the angels in Noel's bible verses. And it smiles, flushed and glistening and close to the edge just like him.

" _Ryo_ \--!"

His name comes out in a gasp, then a shuddering groan as Akira's eyes scrunch closed again and his jaw clenches. His hips jerk roughly once, twice, three times and he comes hard. He feels it spilling, then dripping down Ryo's thighs; knows the vision had curved its body with him in a rustle of too many wings and sacred light. He keeps coming until his eyes roll back and his hips shudder, then buries his face again into the damp crook of neck where Ryo's pulse drums wild.

Their hearts are crushed together, smothered in a thudding beat that falls in-sync like rolling waves against the shore. Something hot and wet runs down Akira's flushed cheeks as he chances a dizzy glance and sees the angel gone, spirited away yet again where Ryo lies with him in a contented sprawl. It's actually not often that Akira cries after sex now that it's more commonplace, but there had been something about the yearning in those eyes (the sadness, the adoration, _the desperation_ ) that has tear streaks running heavily anew from his eyes to drip a haphazard mess over Ryo's chest.

There's no more seeing red, though. No more savagery, no more " _fuck him senseless_ " pounding a slurred mantra under his skin, shaking his bones. Just the pang of sorrow for something he doesn't even know is real. But he can't forget the face of the angel that had looked like it would defy God to have him closer, just impossibly closer.

Ryo's small eyebrows tilt very slightly in a trace of concern and he reaches to gather Akira to his chest with soothing strokes through his hair. "Don't cry," he tells him. Like always, like all the times as children under their tapestry of stars. But Akira can't help more of the tears that follow and how they pool over newly-marked skin. Ryo is patient as ever, letting them run dry.

Eventually, Akira bumps his nose gingerly to Ryo's cheek. His voice is unusually soft and careful as it folds against him in a warm wash of breath. "You look like an angel."

He gathers Ryo closer in his arms when he feels him start to tremble. There's no answer, only Ryo quivering gently for a minute as the words fall and linger with them like the warmth of the afterglow, like the light from those beautiful, terrifying wings.


End file.
